Natural Passion (Au Naturel Trilogy Book 1)

by Anna Durand

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by Anna Durand

  Connect with Anna Durand

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Eve

  On the well-mowed lawn in front of me, four nude people batted a tennis ball back and forth over a net by striking it with the wedge-shaped wooden boxes fitted over their hands. Each player had one thug, the official name for the box-shaped thingy. They were playing miniten, a version of tennis unique to the nudist community, and having a ball doing it. They laughed whenever someone missed the ball and cheered whenever they hit it and the ball went sailing over the net. Miniten was more relaxed than tennis, making it the perfect sport for people who preferred to stay au naturel. No sports bras or jockstraps required.

  Ah yes, this was my life. I entertained naked people for a living. Running a nudist resort involved a lot more than keeping my guests entertained, though. It also brought a slew of boring, unpleasant tasks like bookkeeping, meal catering, laundry service, and anything else my guests required. This was Au Naturel Naturist Resort LLC, but I was the only member of the company. That meant my guests were solely my responsibility, whether they wanted to be called nudists or naturists.

  I leaned back against a tree, my hands in the pockets of my shorts. My tank top and short-shorts seemed downright tame compared to the unabashed nudity of the folks enjoying a friendly game of miniten and the spectators observing from the lawn's periphery. Four of them were over sixty, one was over eighty, and three were younger. Only one belonged to the millennial generation, but Ollie Jackson wasn't exactly a buff specimen.

  Not that I cared what they looked like. Not that they cared either. I admired my guests' attitude toward the human body and their carefree outlook on life in general. Besides, Ollie had the cuteness factor, both in his looks and his personality.

  "Hey, Eve!" Sylvester Norris shouted to me, waving. The breeze ruffled his shoulder-length gray hair. Other parts of him flapped too, but the seventy-two-year-old didn't seem to notice or care. He grinned at me. "When are you going to join the party?"

  Every summer Sylvester and his wife, Ruth, visited my establishment, and every year he asked me when I might "join the party," meaning when would I get naked along with my guests. Though I admired their unashamed attitude toward nudity, I had no desire to shed my clothes.

  "Maybe another time," I called to him.

  That was my standard answer to the obvious question. Why did a woman who refused to strip down own a naturist resort?

  I supposed it was kind of like owning a tattoo shop but having no tats of my own. Still, being the proprietor of a nudist resort did not mean I had to strip along with my guests. I took care of them like any good innkeeper would, but I kept my clothes on at all times—in public, and in private while in the company of other people who were not my lovers.

  Ruth slapped her husband's arm. "Leave the girl alone, Sylvester. We're not evangelists for nudism."

  "Naturism," said Ollie, my youngest guest at twenty-four. The only item he wore on his body was a pair of eyeglasses. "Get with the twenty-first century, guys. The word nudist is totally an old fart thing."

  Sylvester winked at Ollie. "We are old farts, pipsqueak."

  I smiled. Couldn't help it. My regular guests who came back year after year were like family to me. Even Ollie had been visiting my establishment for four years, at least three times a year. Two of those stays consisted of weekend-only trips, but every summer he enjoyed a two-week holiday here.

  Except this year he was staying for six weeks. I wondered why, but it wasn't my business.

  "Catch you guys later," I said, pushing away from the tree. "Gotta fix lunch and get ready for the new guest."

  Everyone waved and shouted goodbye to me.

  I ambled back to my house. It sat fifty feet away from the two-story building that served as the guest quarters. My little ranch-style house didn't look like much on the outside, but inside it had a spacious kitchen and a photo studio. As I walked through the main door, straight into the kitchen, my gaze flitted to the framed photos on the walls. Every wall in my house featured samples of my photography. The older images were of normal stuff like animals and scenery.

  Everything from the past five years was…less normal.

  In the photos, nude people of every age, size, and color frolicked. Nudists playing miniten. Nudists playing chess. Nudists having a picnic. Nudists gathered around a bonfire toasting marshmallows. Nudists… Well, let's just say I had photographed human beings in the buff doing more activities than anyone who wasn't a nudist would've realized people of that ilk engaged in. None of the images were lewd or sexual in any way. Whether they called it nudism or naturism, these folks weren't in it for erotic reasons. They simply preferred to go clothes free.

  Nope, no porn here. I took tasteful pictures of my guests, but only of the ones who signed a release form. I posted the images on the resort website and also on some stock photo sites to earn a few royalties, but I had no illusions I'd become a famous documentarian of the naturist lifestyle.

  Photographing nudists. Who knew this was where I'd end up? Not me, for sure. This resort in the boonies of Oregon was a long ways from New York City.

  I threw open the refrigerator, grabbing ingredients and tossing them onto the large butcher-block island. My guests would be hungry after their morning exercise. The ones who hadn't participated in miniten had chosen other forms of physical fitness, everything from weight lifting to jogging. After lunch, they'd want to relax in the hot spring. Oregon in the summer was usually pleasant, making the hot spring a year-round attraction.

  We hadn't reached prime bug season yet. I checked my supply of insect repellent, then got to work on lunch.

  Twenty minutes later, I'd whipped up the appetizers and salads and was about to start in on the main course when the house phone rang. I had a cell, but the landline offered more convenience when my guests needed something. All anyone needed to do was punch the green button on any phone in the guest house to ring the one in my house. The digital display on the base unit told me which room was calling, whether it was a guest's room or the dining hall. This one originated from the supply closet that doubled as my handyman's office.

  I nabbed the handset off the wall, cradling it with my neck while chopping lettuce. "What's up, Quentin?"

  "Got a problem," Quentin Smith said in his gruff voice. My sole employee wasn't known for his cheerfulness, but he performed magic on the plumbing and anything else that needed fixing. "The room for the new guest is toast."

  "What?" I dropped the lettuce
and my knife, gripping the phone in my hand. "There was a fire? I didn't smell any smoke."

  "There's no fire," he grumbled. "A pipe burst in the wall, but nobody knew about it until I came in here to make sure everything was good for the new guest. The place is wetter than a moose after a dip in the hot spring. Don't think anybody wants to sleep in that bed. Might as well paint yourself green since you'd be covered in mold by morning."

  "Shit. What are we going to do?" I glanced at the clock and cursed again, too softly for Quentin to hear. "The new guest will be here any minute."

  "You'll have to use your spare room, at least until I can get the pipe fixed and clean this place up."

  We were booked up in the summer with a waiting list to boot. I'd hosted the occasional guest in my house when there was a problem with their room, but the spare room was mostly for my friends and relatives. Maybe I should've felt weird about letting strangers into my home, but it wasn't any different than if I'd owned a bed-and-breakfast.

  "It's your choice, boss," Quentin said. "I can put a canoe in here and tell 'em to get paddling."

  "Hilarious." I rubbed my forehead and sighed. "Okay, I'll put him up in the spare room. But please, Quentin, get that room cleaned up as fast as possible. My house doesn't have all the amenities for guests and the decor is girlie. I don't think a man is going to appreciate the pastel bathroom or the pink sheets on the bed."

  "The new guest is a man?" Quentin made a noise that reminded me of a growl. "Maybe you should send him to a motel in town until the room here is fixed."

  "Everything's booked up. The Pioneer Days festival is this week."

  "Yeah, forgot." He growled again. "I'll get to work right away and see how fast I can fix this puppy."

  "Thanks, Quentin."

  I hung up the phone.

  A guest in my house. The new guy would be nice like all my guests, I was sure. I knew his name and where he'd come from—Valentim Silva from Los Angeles—but nothing else.

  Outside, the crunching of tires on gravel alerted me to Mr. Silva's arrival.

  I snagged a little remote from the counter and sprinted out of the house toward the driveway.

  A black pickup truck was stopped at the gate.

  Breathing hard from my sprint, I stopped fifteen feet from the gate and punched a button on the remote in my hand. The gate rolled open. The truck had dark windows on the sides, and the glare of sunlight obscured my view through the windshield as the vehicle passed me. I trotted after it, gesturing for my newest guest to park near my house instead of in the gravel area set aside for guests. He seemed to get the idea, pulling up behind my pickup.

  His made mine look like something I'd gotten from a junkyard. My Dodge Ram was six years old and lacked the ooh-la-la factor of this guy's Ford F-250 Limited Super Duty. I recognized the model. I'd seen one at the car dealership in town, though I'd gone there strictly to window shop. No way could I afford a new truck, especially not an F-250 Limited. It cost at least eighty thousand dollars.

  Great. A rich guest. My little place was not a luxury resort, and the last time I'd hosted a wealthy guest, the woman had bitched about everything.

  The driver's door swung open just when I reached the truck.

  Panting, I rushed up to meet my guest. "Hi, welcome to Au Naturel Naturist Resort. I'm—"

  My voice ceased working the instant the man jumped out of the car and turned toward me.

  A god had stepped out of the luxury pickup. My gaze insisted on taking in the full picture of my newest guest, wandering over his entire body. Tall and muscular in an athletic way, he boasted skin lightly bronzed by the sun. His dark hair curled around his ears to kiss the lower edge of the lobes. His cocoa slacks clung to his thighs, accentuating the powerful muscles underneath. The top two buttons of his white dress shirt hung open.

  My attention stalled on his chest and the elaborate tattoos that covered the swath of skin I could see.

  He ran a hand through his artfully mussed locks, and his full lips curved into a relaxed smile.

  All my guests arrived wearing clothes since airports frowned on nude travel, but this guy's clothes struck me as designer quality. Most people showed up wearing shorts and T-shirts.

  The god offered me his hand. "Valentim Silva. But you can call me Val."

  He spoke with a light accent I couldn't quite place. In fact, it was so light I wouldn't have picked up on it if not for the lilting way he said his full name.

  I settled my palm in his, my gaze drawn to his warm brown eyes. "Eve Holt. I own the resort."

  "Yes, I know." He held on to my hand for a second or two longer than necessary for politeness. "I have seen your website. Your photographs are wonderful, very artistic."

  "Thank you."

  None of my previous guests had ever looked like him. I'd hosted attractive men before, but they were dim stars in the far reaches of the hotness galaxy. This guy was a supernova standing two feet away from me.

  He peered over his shoulder at the guest house. "Is my room ready? I'm a little early."

  I fanned myself with one hand, suddenly hot despite the temperate weather.

  "Ms. Holt?" he said. "Are you all right?"

  Shit. What was wrong with me? I cleared my throat and stuffed my hands in the pockets of my shorts. "I'm fine."

  He raised his brows. "My room?"

  My mouth opened, a response on my tongue, but I froze before uttering a syllable. His room. The one that had been flooded. Double shit. This man, this human supernova in designer slacks, was going to be sleeping in my spare room. Oh no, this wasn't a disaster at all.

  It wasn't like I had to sleep with him.

  No, I didn't have to…

  "Come with me," I said, waving for him to follow as I headed for the house. "Your room was flooded, so you'll be staying in my house until the cleanup is done."

  He grabbed his bag from inside the truck and came up beside me, smiling in a way that made my heart skip. "In your house? That's very generous of you, Ms. Holt."

  "Call me Eve."

  "Thank you, Eve. I don't want to put you out, though. Maybe I should stay in town."

  "All the motels are booked up."

  "I could sleep in my truck."

  "You are my guest," I said, flashing him my professional smile, "which means it's my responsibility to take care of you."

  My body had some very, very wrong ideas about how to take care of Val Silva. I ignored those thoughts. I didn't sleep with guests anymore. Besides, I was way too busy to waste time on a roll in the hay with a hot newcomer.

  I glanced back at his vehicle, the spiffiest rental any guest had arrived in. "That's one fine truck you've got there. Somebody who can afford a luxury pickup could afford to stay at a luxury naturist resort too, I'm guessing. I hope you won't be disappointed by the accommodations here."

  "Not at all." He stopped to gaze out at the large lawn where the miniten net was still set up and where guests lounged in Adirondack chairs or on chaises. "It's beautiful here, very quiet too. I'm used to the noise and crowds in LA."

  I stopped too. We were halfway to my house, but I had to let my newest guest enjoy the scenery a bit. He was paying for the scenery. A forest of conifers covered the property, though the two acres around the guest house and my home were open. Puffy little clouds dotted the blue sky. With a temperature in the seventies, we were enjoying perfect weather for nudists.

  "Since we're out here," I said, "let me point out the main features of the resort."

  He threw me a sideways glance. "Well, I can see there's badminton or tennis. Or could it be miniten? Nudists love that game."

  "All of the above. But we have a lot more to offer." I pointed in the appropriate direction for each feature as I listed them. "The lawn also hosts flag football and other sports. That little brown building over there is the sauna, but that's mostly used in the winter. The big building is the guest house, and inside it you'll find rooms with private
en suite bathrooms, an exercise room, a dining hall, a game room, and a self-serve pantry filled with snacks. There's a pop machine in the downstairs hallway, along with a coffeemaker and water cooler in the dining hall. Those are available twenty-four seven, along with the pantry."

  "Sounds like you have everything."

  "There's more." I pointed at the dirt trail that disappeared into the woods. "We have nature trails too, and a natural hot spring as well as a small private lake."

  "Impressive. A resort with all these amenities should be more expensive."

  "There are plenty of luxury resorts in the world. I want to offer an affordable, family-friendly place where naturists and nudists can experience the wilderness without sacrificing the creature comforts."

  "And that's why I decided to come here." He turned toward me. "For the friendly atmosphere. Your website says I'll find that here."

  "You will. My guests are good people." I eyed his truck again and couldn't hold back my curiosity any longer. "Where did you find a fancy truck to rent? I would've picked you up at the airport if you'd told me when your flight was arriving. You left that question blank in the online registration form."

  "That's because I didn't fly. I drove here in my own truck, not a rental."

  "You drove from LA? That's a twelve-hour trip."

  He shrugged one shoulder. "I wanted the privacy and quiet."

  Deciding I'd been nosy enough, I started for the house and waved for him to follow. "Come on. I'll show you the spare room."

  Val smiled again, this time with a warmth that exceeded friendliness. Not that he was leering at me. Flirtatious seemed like a more accurate description of his expression.

  No more sleeping with guests, Evie.

  Val caught up to me, that smile deepening. "I appreciate your hospitality and plan on taking advantage of it often while I'm staying here. If you don't mind."

  "That's what I'm here for."

  "Are you a nudist, Eve?"

  "No. I run the place, that's all."

  "Too bad." He skimmed his gaze up and down my body. "I've never seen a woman more worthy of the nudist lifestyle."

  This guy was trouble. Sexy, flirty, down-and-dirty trouble.